


Sleep Together

by theblackberrybelle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblackberrybelle/pseuds/theblackberrybelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Sherlolly drabble written for a song fic challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Together

_If we sleep together_

_Will you like me better?_

_If we come together_

_Prove it now or never_

_-Garbage, Sleep Together_

*****

“Hello?”

“Sherlock?”

“Molly? Is there a problem at the morgue?”

“No no no. ‘S alright. I…just…hey, I’m kind of at your place and I’m not feeling so good, so can I come in?”

Sherlock peeked out of the window. Molly was standing on the sidewalk, holding high heels in one hand and her phone to her ear in the other. She was visibly wavering from side to side.

“Molly, it’s Christmas Eve. Are you drunk?”

“Yeah, but I only had a couple’a drinks with my frien’. Took a cab from the pub because I felt odd an’ I told ‘em to come here. Can I come in?” She stumbled and almost tripped over her own feet. Sherlock shook his head and replied, “Don’t move.  I’ll be down to help you.”  With that he hung up the phone and turned to the stairs.

*****

“Molly, what exactly did you drink?” Sherlock asked, pulling her eyes open with his long fingers and looking at her pupils.

“Um, glass of wine and…and…a whiskey sour.”

“When did you start feeling strange?” Sherlock stood up and held Molly by the shoulders to steady her.

“A few minutes af’er I finished the seggunt drink.”

“You seem to have been slipped something. Possibly Rohypnol. It’s a good thing you came here as soon as you started feeling funny. Was there anyone at the pub that you recognized, or started acting funny around you?”

Molly squinted her eyes, trying to think clearly. “Um, I dun remember.” Sherlock let go of her, and she wobbled again. Without comment, he led her one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, sitting her down in front of the small fire. “You’ll stay here tonight.”

Molly curled her legs under her in the chair. “You mean until we find out for sure if _he’s_ back?”

“Yes. Because he knows now that you’re important. To me.”

*****

A few hours later, Molly and Sherlock were sitting across from each other, talking. After the mention of him they changed the subject and decided to talk about lighter topics. Molly was still fairly loopy from the alcohol and drugs and kept chattering, changing the topic. Sherlock could tell she was coming down when she stopped talking for a few minutes, staring at the fire.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“That kiss. You know. The kiss you gave me when we faked your death. Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“Did you mean it? Was it just something to placate me, or was it real?”

“Of course it was real. It happened and we both remember it.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean was it REAL – were there any emotions behind it on your end at all?”

Sherlock stopped. _She might not even remember this conversation tomorrow,_ he thought. “Of course, Molly. I care very much for you.”

“Then sleep with me.”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock asked, his head turning from the fire to face her. Molly sat in the chair, her legs tucked underneath her, covered by a thin blanket.

“Sleep with me, Sherlock. Who knows, if we sleep together, you might like me better.”

Sherlock stared at her, his mind moving in ten thousand directions. Trying to decide what to say, trying to decide what to do, and weighing the consequences of each action. “I like you now, Molly.”

Without a word, Molly stood, still unsteady on her feet, and held out her hand to Sherlock. “It’s always been you, ever since you showed your face in the morgue.”

Without a word, Sherlock stood and put his hand in hers, and led her back to the bedroom.

*****

Sherlock woke up, freezing. He stretched out his arm and found an empty bed. Standing and heading to the bathroom, he found a small sticky note tacked to the mirror.

In a delicate handwriting, it read:

_For once in my life, I felt beautiful. Merry Christmas, Sherlock. – Molly_

Sherlock gave the note a small smile, and murmured, “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”


End file.
